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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23626594">Sweeney Todd - Star-cross'd</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfullysweetobsessions/pseuds/sinfullysweetobsessions'>sinfullysweetobsessions</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sweeney Todd (2007), Sweeney Todd - Sondheim/Wheeler</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Blood and Injury, Cannibalism, Dark Character, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Falling In Love, Forbidden Love, Forgiveness, Love, Manipulation, Mental Health Issues, Murder, Nostalgia, Poetry, Psychological Drama, Psychological Torture, Redemption, Serial Killers, Slow Romance, Tragedy, Underage Rape/Non-con, Unplanned Pregnancy, Unrequited Love, Victorian, Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 18:08:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,792</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23626594</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfullysweetobsessions/pseuds/sinfullysweetobsessions</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In which a man returns as the shadow of the man he once was and the life he had once led; a baker within whose thoughts he had never ceased to remain, and the baker's young daughter who unwittingly holds the man's misguided admiration.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Johanna Barker/Anthony Hope, Johanna Barker/Judge Turpin, Lucy Barker/Sweeney Todd, Nellie Lovett &amp; Sweeney Todd, Nellie Lovett/Sweeney Todd, Sweeney Todd/Original Female Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><strong>Lola </strong>[<strong>loh</strong>-l<em>uh</em>]</p><p>
  <em>noun.</em>
</p><p>1. a female given name meaning: "<em>lady of sorrows</em>."</p><p>A derivative of one of the titles of the Virgin Mary: '<em>Nuestra Señora de los Dolores</em>,' or, '<em>Our Lady of Sorrows</em>.' The title is of Spanish origin.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>~*~</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Gin comes in at the mouth</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And love comes in at the eye;</em>
</p><p>
  <em>That's all we know for truth</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Before we grow old and die.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He lifts the glass to his mouth,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He looks at her, and releases a sigh.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>She is so fragile.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>A jewel, a flower;</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Delicate,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>In all that she does.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>She looks as though,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>If you bit her,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Milk and honey would flow from her.</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"the sky is so tragically beautiful; a graveyard of stars."</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>~ West London, England, 1846 ~</strong>
</p><p>"<em>I have sailed the world, beheld its wonders from the Dardanelles to the mountains of Peru, but there's no place like London!</em>" came the melodic sound of a young sailor's mused singing.</p><p>"<em>No, there's no place like London...</em>" came another voice; bitter and spiteful.</p><p>"Mr Todd?" the young sailor ventured, concern laced through his voice.</p><p>He had learnt to be cautious of the manner in which he spoke to the older man. Said man presented himself as cold and stern, but was no less troubled. He could be triggered with great ease; always submerged within his own dark thoughts.</p><p>Mr Todd's scowl never faltered. "<em>You are young. Life has been kind to you. You will learn...</em>"</p><p>The man slowly advanced forward as his gaze scanned the surrounding buildings distastefully. The sailor watched him with unadulterated interest.</p><p>"<em>There's a hole in the world like a great black pit and the vermin of the world inhabit it and its morals aren't worth what a pig could spit, and it goes by the name of London...</em>" he spoke with a sneer. "<em>At the top of the hole sit a privileged few, making mock of the vermin in the lower zoo, turning beauty into filth and greed—I too have sailed the world and seen its wonders, for the cruelty of men is as wondrous as Peru. But there's no place like London!</em>"</p><p>When the ship finally docked, the younger man joined the older in disembarking it following a long and tedious journey. Dark clouds loomed above them, rendering the nightfall even darker in the absence of moonlight. The city of London was at the mercy of the dead of night; the only evidence of life being the unfortunates and beggars who continued to roam the dank streets. Time existed not to them, it measured nought.</p><p>The sight of the forsaken streets only served to torment Todd further as he stepped forward, scanning his surroundings almost dubiously. London was a ghost—a city as old as time with its rich history and tales to be told, but nevertheless stuck in the present, the <em>moment</em>; one that never shifted to past and seldom became future. The very city within which Todd - as the man he had once been - had once harboured such sheer <em>joy</em>... short-lived as it was. He could hardly believe that the visage before him was that very same city, though now it's appearance was tainted with the blood and tears of the innocent. Its roots comprised of the sweat and labour of the blameless. Its gloom was not entirely the result of merely the night, but rather the sickening injustices that occurred and continued to within it.</p><p><em>Injustice</em>.</p><p>"Is everything alright, Mr Todd?" the sailor asked quietly from behind him.</p><p>"I beg your indulgence, Anthony. My mind is far from easy," Mr Todd replied, tone softening slightly. "In these once-familiar streets I feel... shadows. Everywhere."</p><p>Anthony's brows furrowed in confusion. "Shadows?"</p><p>"Ghosts," came a whispered reply.</p><p>There was a brief stretch of silence before the older man began to clarify his statements through a song;</p><p>"<em>There was a barber and his wife, and she was beautiful. A foolish barber and his wife, she was his reason and his life, and she was beautiful!</em>" he sang, voice etched with undisguised pain. "<em>And she was virtuous, and he was... naïve. There was another man who saw that she was beautiful. A pious vulture of the law who, with a gesture of his claw, removed the barber from his plate, then there was nothing but to wait; and she would fall, so soft, so young, so lost and, oh, so beautiful!</em>"</p><p>"And the lady, sir, did she succumb?" Anthony ventured curiously.</p><p>The barber paused thoughtfully, contemplating the question as he had been doing for the last fifteen years. "<em>Oh, that was many years ago. I doubt if anyone would know</em>..."</p><p>The sailor's eyes were downcast, gaze only shifting to focus on the man before him when he spoke up once again;</p><p>"I'd like to thank you, Anthony," Todd spoke without turning. "If you hadn't spotted me, I'd be lost on the ocean still."</p><p>"Will I see you again?"</p><p>The barber turned to gaze in the direction of his intended destination. "You might find me if you like. Around Fleet Street, I wouldn't wonder."</p><p>"Until then, my friend," the younger man said with an amiable smile.</p><p>Todd ignored the boy's invitation to a handshake, simply walking away carelessly. He roamed the streets, scanning his surroundings as he allowed a suppressed memory of the city's layout guide him to Fleet Street. The alleyways he passed through reeked of a musky stench; one comprised of soot and urine.</p><p>"<em>There's a hole in the world like a great black pit, and it's filled with people who are filled with shit, and the vermin of the world inhabit it</em>," he muttered spitefully beneath his breath.</p><p>It wasn't long before he emerged from an alleyway to be greeted by the surreal sight of his previous residence; his beloved barbershop, situated above—his eyes trailed after the words—'<em>Mrs Lovett's Meat Pie Emporium</em>.' His brow raised at the name. <em>Mrs Lovett</em>. He remembered her; perhaps not too fondly, but he remembered her nonetheless.</p><p>He eyed the aged building with narrowed eyes for a final time before proceeding forward. Crossing the street, he came to an abrupt halt right before the large door. He peered down at the handle scrutinisingly, tentatively reaching for it. Slowly, he turned it before stepping into the dim premises. His gaze immediately landed upon a middle-aged woman, busying herself with chopping dough. She appeared completely disinterested and disengaged with the task; until her eyes suddenly shot up to glare at him.</p><p>He watched somewhat in awe as they widened slightly with astonishment, as though the sight of another human being was a foreign one indeed.</p><p>"A<em> customer</em>!" she gasped, stabbing the knife into the counter before her.</p><p>She made haste in her approach towards him. "<em>Wait! What's your rush? What's your hurry? You gave me such a fright I thought you was a ghost! Half a minute, can't you sit?</em>"</p><p>He continued to simply glare at her apathetically, even when she came to stand before him.</p><p>"<em>Sit you down</em>..." she forced him to be seated, hands pushing insistently at his shoulders. "<em>Sit!</em>"</p><p>The man watched as the baker retreated to her place behind the counter, retrieving a dusty old plate and placing a mouldy-looking piece of pastry upon it before advancing towards him again.</p><p>"<em>All I meant is that I haven't seen a customer for weeks! Did you come 'ere for a pie, sir? Do forgive me if me 'ead's a little vague. What was that?</em>" she sang, disposing of an insect in the process. "<em>But you'd think we 'ad the plague! From the way that people keep avoiding—no, ya don't!</em>"</p><p>Todd raised a brow in ill amusement as he watched the woman parade around the counter, occasionally killing off a pest.</p><p>"<em>Heaven knows I try, sir!</em>" she continued. "<em>But there's no one comes in even to inhale. Right you are, sir, would ya like a drop of ale? Mind you, I can 'ardly blame them! These are probably the worst pies in London! I know why nobody cares to take them, I should know, I make them. But good? No! The worst pies in London... Even tha's polite, the worst pies in London! If ya doubt it, take a bite—</em>"</p><p>Mrs Lovett watches intently as the man bites into the pastry, his entire body going rigid in revulsion. "<em>Is that just disgusting? Ya have to concede it. It's nothing but crusting. Here, drink this, you'll need it. The worst pies in London</em>..."</p><p>"<em>And no wonder, with the price of meat what it is. When ya get it, never thought I'd live tah see the day men'd think it was a treat, findin' poor animals, what are dyin' in the street</em>," the woman continued to sing, a sickened tone in her voice. "<em>Mrs Mooney 'as a pie shop. Does 'er business, but I noticed somethin' weird... lately all 'er neighbours' cats have disappeared. Have to hand it to 'er, what I calls enterprise, poppin' pussies into pies. Wouldn't do in my shop! Jus' the thought of it's enough tah make you sick; and I'm tellin' you, them pussycats is quick.</em>"</p><p>Mr Todd's brows raised at that comment.</p><p>"<em>No denyin' times is hard, sir! Even harder than the worst pies in London. Only lard and nothin' more is that just revolting? All greasy and gritty. It looks like it's moulting, and tastes like—</em>" she paused sorrowfully. "<em>Well, pity a woman alone... with limited wind. And the worst pies in London!</em>"</p><p>She gazed at Todd, her chin resting upon the palm of her hand as she leaned onto the counter and sighed. "<em>Ah, sir... Times is hard, times is hard!</em>"</p><p>He could feel her dark eyes upon him as he consumed the ale she had so graciously offered him.</p><p>"Trus' me, dearie, it's gonna take a <em>lot</em> more than ale to wash that taste out," came her softly-spoken voice. "Come with me. We'll get you a nice tumbler of gin, eh?"</p><p>He promptly followed her as she led him into a dreary room; one that was undoubtedly a part of her personal quarters, as it was away from the shop. It was quite small and adorned primarily with dark and decrepit pieces of furniture coated in thick layers of dirt and dust. He scanned his surroundings inquisitively, brows furrowing when he caught sight of slight movement within his peripheral vision.</p><p>"Isn't this homey, now?" Mrs Lovett spoke through the silence absentmindedly, pouring the alcohol into a rather small glass. "The cheery wallpaper was a real bargain, too. It was only partly singed when the chapel burned down."</p><p>The baker slowly approached him and handed him the glass of gin. "There you go. You sit down, warm ya bones."</p><p>Todd seated himself upon the chaise lounge located in the centre of the parlour.</p><p>"You've a room over the shop here?" he inquired. "Times is so hard, why don't you rent it out?"</p><p>"What, up there?" she said incredulously. "No, I won't go near it. People think it's haunted."</p><p>Todd looked up at her with his brows raised. "Haunted?"</p><p>"Yeah. And who's to say they're wrong?" came her casual reply.</p><p>The woman seated herself by his side, an almost distant look evident upon her ageing features. "Ya see, years ago, somethin' 'appened up there. Somethin' not very nice."</p><p>His features didn't so much as twitch at her alluding words. Her eyes flitted across his handsome face in an attempt to read him; she was, however, unsuccessful in doing so.</p><p>"<em>There was a barber and his wife</em>," she began to sing softly, adoringly. "<em>And he was beautiful! A proper artist with a knife, but they transported him for life... and he was beautiful!</em>"</p><p>Todd stared into space, seemingly disoriented by his own thoughts, but he latched onto her every word. She spoke and sang so fondly of him; it roused his memories of her from fifteen years prior. Her bright eyes and kind words. She had been more youthful then, more of a stranger to grief. He could see now, within her dark eyes, that she had very much become aquatinted with pain. He briefly wondered what had become of her small family, consisting only of her husband and child. Perhaps she shared his pain. Perhaps she could understand the sheer <em>suffering</em> that came with lonesomeness.</p><p>"Barker, his name was. Benjamin Barker," she said.</p><p>"What was his crime?"</p><p>"Foolishness."</p><p>The man agreed with her, though he didn't express so verbally.</p><p>"<em>He 'ad this wife, ya see. Pretty little thing, silly little nit, had her chance for the moon on a string... poor thing. Poor thing!</em>" the baker sang, though there was but a tinge of sympathy within her voice. "<em>There was this judge, ya see; wanted her like mad, every day he sent her a flower. But did she come down from 'er tower? Sat up there and sobbed by the hour, poor fool... ah, but there was worse yet to come, poor thing.</em>"</p><p>He was uncertain of whether he could bare to know of his beloved Lucy's fate. <em>Lucy</em>... Oh, his Lucy. His beautiful wife. But he did nothing to silence the woman beside him who simply continued;</p><p>"<em>Well, Beadle calls on 'er all polite, poor thing, poor thing. "The Judge," he tells her, "is all contrite." He blames 'imself for her dreadful plight, she must come straight to 'is house tonight! Poor thing, poor thing... of course, when she goes there, poor thing, poor thing, they're havin' this ball all in masks. There's no one she knows there, poor dear, poor thing; she wanders tormented and drinks, poor thing, the Judge has repented, she thinks, poor thing—"oh, where is Judge Turpin?" She asks. He was there, alright! Only not so contrite!</em>"</p><p>The barber's blood begins to boil at the tale. He dreads the baker's next proclamation.</p><p>"<em>She wasn't no match for such craft, ya see, and everyone thought it so droll. They figured she 'ad to be daft, ya see, so all of them stood there and laughed, ya see. Pour soul, poor thing—</em>"</p><p>"<em><strong>NO!</strong></em>"</p><p>His body shot up from the lounge and his eyes grew wide, <em>wild</em>, and Lovett simply peered up at him with a knowing look in hers.</p><p>"Would <em>no one</em> have mercy on her?" his voice was reminiscent of that of the man's he once was; the remnants of his faith in humanity evident within his pained words.</p><p>Mrs Lovett's eyes widened slightly with bewilderment. "So, it <em>is</em> you, <em>Benjamin Barker?</em>"</p><p>He ignored her astonished query. "Where is Lucy? Where is my <em>wife?</em>"</p><p>"She poisoned herself. Arsenic, from the apothecary around the corner," her head sunk low. "Tried to stop 'er, but she wouldn't listen to me. And he's got ya daughter."</p><p>Todd's initial misery at the notion of his wife's tragic fate subsided and was replaced by sheer <em>rage</em> when Lovett informed him of his daughter's.</p><p>"<em>He?</em>" he spat scornfully. "<em>Judge Turpin?</em>"</p><p>"Adopted her. Like his own."</p><p>The baker watched as the man peeled his jacket from his body before tossing it aside with a force fuelled by pure and angered <em>loathing</em>.</p><p>"Fifteen years..." the barber spat. "...I've sweated in a living <em>hell</em> on a<em> false charge</em>. Fifteen years<em> dreaming</em> I might come 'ome to a wife and child."</p><p>Mrs Lovett sighed. "Well, I can't say the years 'ave been particularly kind to you, Mr Barker."</p><p>"<em>No</em>," Todd exclaimed, body abruptly turning to face her. "Not Barker. That man is <em>dead</em>. It's Todd now. <em>Sweeney Todd</em>. And he will have his <em>revenge.</em>"</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. II</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"oh, the body—its hungers, needs, and limitations. you look at somebody and you realise that they're in there, inside there, somewhere; and how will you ever reach them, understand them?" ~ Richard Siken.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Come in," Mrs Lovett coaxed. "Nothin' to be afraid of, love."</p><p> </p><p>Sweeney perused the dilapidated premises with sorrowful eyes. The room had been far from maintained in his absence. It appeared as though it truly housed tortured spirits, rather than all of the mirthful memories he had made within it with his beautiful Lucy and baby Johanna.</p><p> </p><p>When his eyes locked with the baker's, she offered him a charming smirk and strode over to the other side of the room. He was certain that his eyes had betrayed his anguish, but simply found himself incapable of concealing it; the heedful cultivation of his emotional graveyard threatened to shatter entirely with the first few steps he took entering the rather capacious room. Fifteen years of practised illiberal discipline - for the purpose of mastering the art that was masking one's emotions - served him nought at this moment. And his resolve shattered altogether when he came to stand before his baby daughter's crib—tainted with the effects of time and neglect. The cloth draped over it emanated the bitter smell of aged linen. It was rough and crisp beneath his fingertips as he lifted it in slow agony, heart sinking at the sight of baby Jo's little dolly. He felt the all-too-familiar sensation of his throat being gripped painfully by the ensuing threat of tears.</p><p> </p><p>"When they came for the girl, I hid them," Mrs Lovett's voice forced him from his trance. "Could've sold them, but I didn't."</p><p> </p><p>The barber turned at her statement, coming to kneel before her as she rid the box in her pale hands of any remaining dust. His heart leapt at the sight of the intricately-carved object, fuelled by his knowledge of what it contained—his straight <em>razors</em>. His fingers tingled beneath the pleasant weight of said object when the baker passed it to him. With bated breath, he made slow work of opening the case; eyes reflecting the ethereal glint the razors within released beneath the vague sunlight as he stared down at them in nothing short of awe.</p><p> </p><p>His sentiments were evidently shared by the woman kneeling before him. "Those 'andles is chased silver, ain't they?"</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Silver</em>..." he echoed with a ghost of a smile. "Yes."</p><p> </p><p>She watched his nimble fingers delicately stroke the glimmering surfaces, as though he thought them fragile. The gesture was one of pure adoration and worship, making her feel as though she was imposing. Though, in spite of this, it brought forth the myriad of fantasies she had allowed herself to indulge in consisting of those very same fingers to the forefront of her preoccupied mind. She could hardly restrain her sinful thoughts; what with the way that the warmth of his body bled through his clothing and pulsed around her. Her persistent arousal had, however, gone almost entirely unnoticed by him as he gently retrieved a single razor from its velvet enclosure.</p><p> </p><p>"<em>These are my friends</em>," he began to sing softly, <em>affectionately</em>. "<em>See how they glisten. See this one shine, how he smiles in the light, my friend! My faithful friend... Speak to me, friend; whisper. I'll listen. I know, I know you've been locked out of sight all these years like me, my friend! Well, I've come home to find you waiting! Home... and we're together. And we'll do wonders, won't we?</em>"</p><p> </p><p>Mrs Lovett made her desire for the barber known when she joined him in his serenading of his 'friends.' Her words exuded her unrequited infatuation with the man <em>audaciously</em>. There was a brief stretch of silence when their respective singing ceased;</p><p> </p><p>"Leave me."</p><p> </p><p>Her reflection staring back at him from within the blade only, to him, tainted the immaculate surface. Her breath fanning against his neck roused only vexation within him. She was an attractive woman, he would not deny that notion, but her persistent attempts at seduction rendered him irritable. It was awfully reminiscent of her blatant gawking at him from fifteen years prior; when he had been young and not a force in the world or another could have tempted or deterred him from his undying love for Lucy. He supposed that it had been but a remarkable thrill for the young Mrs Lovett to entertain herself with the thoughts of bedding another man—a man who was not her dear, old husband, Albert. Todd had a fleeting thought of their young daughter, though he remembered not her name. <em>Whatever did become of her husband and child?</em></p><p> </p><p>His thoughts were interrupted by the jarring sound of the door slamming shut behind the woman.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>~*~</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>It was hours later that his train of thought was yet again interrupted. By a soft knock at the door, no less. His frown deepened as he found himself growing quite weary of the sound.</p><p> </p><p>"Come in," he rasped.</p><p> </p><p>He studied the razor within his hand attentively, paying no mind to Mrs Lovett as she took a few tentative steps forward. The barber thought it rather odd that she would shy from him now. The sound of the door clicking shut reverberated throughout the otherwise deathly silent room. He didn't turn from the vast scenery of London beyond his window to acknowledge her presence, but rather waited for her to word her wishes of him.</p><p> </p><p>"Pardon my intrusion, sir," a soft voice said; no louder than a whisper. "I brought you this kettle... in the case that you wish to make yourself some tea."</p><p> </p><p>The barber turned sharply at the faint sound of the gentle voice. Mrs Lovett was not—<em>could never be</em>—the source of such a delicate sound. His eyes instantly landed upon a young girl standing before him, mere metres away. And she was beautiful. Oh, so <em>beautiful</em>. He had not been subjected to such an alluring visage since—by God, her beauty almost <em>pained</em> him.</p><p> </p><p>As his eyes perused her lithe form, he silently berated himself within his own troubled mind. He told himself that the graceful creature before him was only as beguiling as she was because he had not been within the company of a pretty and youthful woman in <em>fifteen agonising years</em>. After all, before anything, he was a <em>man</em>. The need to reproduce was ingrained within him. He could only make a feeble attempt at escaping such a duty within this girl's presence. He could only attempt to spare her from it.</p><p> </p><p>The girl watched as the man's eyes narrowed when he took heed of her tense body. She squirmed beneath his scrutinising stare. Somewhere, within the deep recesses of his mind, he amused himself with the notion that he was blatantly gandering at her when he had shamed Mrs Lovett for doing the very same to him mere hours ago. Despite this, he continued to stare at her. He followed the young girl's every movement, his eyes never leaving her frame.</p><p> </p><p>He watched as she placed the kettle upon the stove with such practised elegance—her trembling hand the only evidence of her discomfort. The nature of her mannerisms, he noticed, was far from crude. The same could not be said, however, about Mrs Lovett. When the girl turned towards him once again, the mere <em>look</em> that they exchanged could have been considered a tryst on its own.</p><p> </p><p>He reached out a hand to her and beckoned her to come closer, but she simply clasped her hands together tightly behind her back and retreated, furthering the distance between them. <em>Shy, huh?</em> His eyes narrowed as he considered their respective positions. She was slightly enthralled by him, he knew that much, for he could see it within the glint that her dark eyes so sinfully harboured. He repeated the motion once again, virtually <em>beseeching</em> of her to come closer. Confusion swept over her youthful features as she peered up at him through her long lashes. <em>A sweet, shy, decent young thing</em>. He could hardly suppress his musings as he gazed into her doe eyes.</p><p> </p><p>"Now, I don't bite," Sweeney pressed. "But I don't believe we've had a proper introduction, yet."</p><p> </p><p>This prompted the girl to step forward slightly, her cheeks reddening significantly. Nevertheless, her soft lips curved into a warm smile. She bowed her head in his direction in a most poised manner before resuming her previous position.</p><p> </p><p>"My sincere apologies, sir," she muttered softly. "It appears as though my manners have abandoned me."</p><p> </p><p>The barber's eyes perused her body once more. "Name's Todd. Sweeney Todd."</p><p> </p><p>"It is a pleasure."</p><p> </p><p>"Believe me, the pleasure's all mine," he stated with a slight smirk.</p><p> </p><p>"My name is Lola," she added daintily. "Lola Lovett."</p><p> </p><p>The man's eyes narrowed as he eyed the girl yet again, doing so in a quizzical manner. <em>But of course</em>. He had seen those eyes of hers before; had seen them within another.</p><p> </p><p>"You're Mrs Lovett's daughter," he stated, tone almost accusatory.</p><p> </p><p>She gazed up at him with a tender look in her eyes. "That I am, sir."</p><p> </p><p>Though her small hands <em>appeared</em> to merely be hanging loosely by her sides, his eyes caught sight of the slight movements they made; she was softly picking at the material of her dress. <em>As though she's nervous</em>. He remained transfixed by the view.</p><p> </p><p>"Tell ya what, <em>Miss Lovett</em>," he began, eyes rising to meet hers. "Why don't you run off and tell your mother that I'm <em>very</em> pleased with her gracious hospitality? Will you do that for me, hmm?"</p><p> </p><p>The girl's sole response was a polite courtesy before she turned on her heels to exit the room. He watched her do so, eyes seizing the opportunity to rake her lissom form a final time. When the door softly clicked shut behind her and announced her absence to him, he turned towards the darkening view of the God-forsaken city beyond the misty window—which he promptly closed his eyes to. He allowed his thoughts to be entirely consumed by his lust for vengeance. After all, such was the lone purpose of his escape and presence within London.</p><p> </p><p>Perhaps it had been his incessant bloodlust, or perhaps it had been the remnants of memories that his mind had pieced together to form a vague image of his beloved Lucy, but his eyes snapped open when he discerned the gentle throbbing within his pants.</p><p> </p><p>He despised himself <em>greatly</em>, however, when his mind conjured up images of the young girl who had graced his presence mere moments ago; who was capable of extracting <em>such</em> a response from him. In an inept attempt at putting his mind at ease, he told himself that it had been her feminine nature and poise—which indeed differed considerably from what he had been subjected to for the last fifteen years.</p><p> </p><p>Much to his chagrin, the throbbing intensified; and to such a gradual extent that it only served to torture him further. Todd promptly shut his eyes once again and pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering unintelligibly beneath his breath.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>This simply could not be.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p>"Don't worry, love," Mrs Lovett grinned lovingly. "He'll take a shine to ya, 'e will. I <em>knows</em> it."</p><p> </p><p>Lola's eyes were downcast and she bore a contemplative frown as she toyed with a thread emerging from her skirts. "...<em>Strange</em>."</p><p> </p><p>"Beg pardon, dearie?"</p><p> </p><p>Her eyes rose to meet her mother's puzzled expression. She simply blinked up at her for a brief moment, her mouth opening several times as if she would speak but was incapable of doing so; her thoughts were <em>terribly</em> dishevelled.</p><p> </p><p>"I-I..." Lola stammered. "I merely had a thought—"</p><p> </p><p>Mrs Lovett's brow raised in amusement. "<em>Oh?</em> And wot might that be?"</p><p> </p><p>"Mum, he's rather—"</p><p> </p><p>A look of warning flashed over her mother's dark eyes—a reflection of her own—as she glared at her expectantly. Lola swallowed the almost painful lump within her throat which had settled therein from her immense <em>discomfort</em>.</p><p> </p><p>"—<em>strange</em>," the girl finished dubiously.</p><p> </p><p>Mrs Lovett offered the pensive girl a perplexed look before resuming her task of kneading the dry dough seated before her upon the counter. Lola glanced up at the woman observantly. Mr Todd had indeed influenced the baker's behaviour to a notable degree. The girl's heart fluttered at the notion that her mother was falling in love with the mysterious man. As frightening as he was, she supposed that love had the astounding ability of transfiguration; perhaps he would sacrifice the darkness he so fervently harboured, would learn to love her mother as she did him. Though, Lola was far from naïve (or so her youthful innocence led her to believe); she understood that, at times, love could only blossom from <em>lust</em>, much as flowers may only spring beneath the sun. <em>Heat</em>.</p><p> </p><p>She suppressed a grimace, willing away the images of her mother in a comprising position with Mr Todd that threatened to arise within her mind. <em>Humans are messy things; they spell love much in the way they spell lust, and spell both as inevitable.</em> The girl could hardly restrain her musings on the matter. Truth be told, the thought that her mother might find salvation within the man was quite alluring even to her. Perhaps the stars shone with their mirthful fates. Ones that entailed marriage and joy in the formation of a new family. After all, ensuring that those around her were happy was of the utmost importance to Lola. She thought it her entire life's purpose.</p>
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